


Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Youngbloods

by eatinggingersouls



Category: Bandom, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance, Panic! at the Disco, The Youngblood Chronicles (Music Video)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Crossover, Gen, Nonbinary Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:55:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4006588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eatinggingersouls/pseuds/eatinggingersouls
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe Patrick shouldn't have survived that horrendous explosion. Now he could barely hear or see, could barely remember anything pre-explosion, and he lost a hand, but at least the people who managed to keep him alive from it are nice. And his senses seemed to be getting better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. May Death Find you Alive

He woke up, feeling generally bruised and hurt. His vision was blurrier than usual, even without glasses. When his eyesight focused as much as it could (which wasn't much), he realized he had absolutely no clue where he was, but he could listen in on a conversation- was his hearing worse?

"...ngerous for us to keep treating him, Pete."

"Yeah, man, he still hasn't woken up, we should let it go."

"But his heart is still beating! I checked- today, earlier!"

Well, that was a good wake-up call, it really was. The knowledge that someone he didn't know was keeping him from being tossed out and considered dead. As far as he could tell, they were in a close room, though his eyesight didn't cooperate when it came to doorways. It was too dark, he couldn't tell if there were doors or whatever. Maybe he should keep paying attention?

"...ain. I'm not stopping you from doing that."

_"_ _Fine_ _!_ Maybe I _will_ _!_ You aren't my leader, anyways, I am!"

Footsteps, the sound of a door opening, and what seemed to be a blurred image of someone walking up to where he was... where he was laying.

Or, well, not up to him, the person stopped a few yards away. _"_ _Guys_ _,_ _guys_ _,_ _he's_ _awake_ _!_ _Oh_ _my_ _god_ _!"_

And, well, then the person ran up, causing himself to recoil instinctively.

"You sure?" One of the unseen people asked.

"Yeah, he is this time! Really!"

So, two other figures approached, a bit behind the first person.

"So, how do you feel?"

He had to sit in silence for a few seconds before he remembered how vocal cords worked. "Shitty." His voice was coarse, and it was obvious it took work to make sound at all.

"Joe, can you get him some cough syrup, or medicine, or something?" One of them left at that request, obviously named Joe.

"Okay, my friend's gonna get you something to fix up your throat, if anything. Got a name?"

Did he have a name? Yes, he did, for sure. Okay, he just had to speak. "Patrick," he said, though there was uncertainty in his rough voice.

"Hm. Patrick. Paaaahhhtrick." The person crouched down beside him, to see at eye level. "So, Patrick, how far back do you remember anything?"

"Fe- few minutes."

"Okay. Well, I found you just after a gasoline explosion. Since I'm nice, I went around and checked the vital signs of all the corpses, and I came out with three living: you're one of them. It's been... two and a half weeks, maybe longer, since the explosion,  and you're the last recovered. Welcome to the post apocalypse. Can you sit up?"

Patrick managed a weak nod, which hurt his head and hurt his neck. Fuck. He did manage to sit up, though not without swears under his breath.

With another, horrified realization, he found that, where a hand once was, was now a bandaged up stump, as far as he could tell.

"So, how's your sight, your hearing?"

"Barely working."

"Damn it!" The person stomped their foot on the ground. "Andy, can you find glasses, or something? Anything'll be better than nothing at this point."

"I don't think you know how glasses work."

"Fuck off, can you do what I said?"

After a few seconds, only he and the first person were left in the room.

"So, Patrick, I'm Pete, leader of the Youngbloods. We're a state-wide group of survivors, and it's started spreading to other parts of the country. I'm very much respected here, so you can probably get stuff if you ask, as long as you lie and say its for me, or a few of my, uh, lieutenants. For now, you're in an abandoned house-turned hospital for the explosion survivors, and you're the only non-Youngblood survivor. There are a few smaller groups in us, the Killjoys being most well known division. If you want to learn more, I can go and fetch you a few people: Brendon and Gerard are good choices- er, no, Gerard wants to be called Party Poison. Hell, even someone like Tyler could help, though. Although, there aren't _really_ _that_ many of us."

He blinked in response. Wow, that seemed needlessly complicated. Or was his brain just not wanting to cooperate with what was going on?

The door creaked as one of the people reentered the room. Cough medicine, apparently- it looked like they had already poured some into the lid, and, well, handed it to... Pete, that was their name?

Yeah, it tasted like shit, but it was better than nothing, and he gladly downed it, somehow.

"Get up when you're ready, 'kay?"

"'Kay."

And, with that, Pete left, with his friend. Eventually, the one who was asked to get him glasses did so, and set them on a table he had barely noticed was in the room, before leaving.

Patrick managed to doze off.


	2. Besides, We've Got Such Good Fashion Sense

The Young Bloods were quite nice to him, and kept him as well fed as he could imagine for a post apocalypse. After what was probably four days, he managed to get up and pace the room without much difficulty; perhaps there was a slight limp that he would never get to fix, but that was better than most anything.

So, one day, Pete came in, dressed in just a shirt and boxers, with the former was rather ripped up.

"Patrick, we're getting ready to move locations. We've pretty much drained the biggest markets of their food here, and we could go to a much bigger and better city for this sort of thing. So, we need to suit up. I don't know if you've noticed, but you aren't spectacularly dressed, so we're raiding a mall of all its fancy shit, and we're gonna look great once we hit our city of choice. Cool with you?"

"Hell yeah, I guess."

There was something about Pete that seemed off from how he knew them. Maybe, something about his smile? The leader gestured for him to follow, so he did so.

Outside, there were at least 50 people. "Young Bloods! This is Patrick, the one I have yet to pipe up about, our third survivor of the explosion weeks ago! He is, well, our newest recruit!"

He murmured a very fast, "Thanks," and fell into the group, once they started off towards their destination. Apparently, cars were too much work in the post apocalypse, although he _did_ almost die from a gasoline explosion. Maybe he should have been more thankful.

Most were wearing clothing as simple as Pete's outfit, probably since they were going to get decked out soon. At one point, someone with cool red hair approached him, although it seemed that their hair dye was fading.

"Hey, man. Name's Party Poison."

"Pete talked about you?"

"Yeah. I'm pretty much Pete's number three."

"Cool."

When they arrived at the mall, Patrick was surprised. It looked like the best building in town.

They all practically ran in, all choosing their first store as something fashion related. Surprisingly, he saw Pete and whatever his name was with the red hair go into Victoria's Secret, or something similar, by the looks of it.

Patrick himself walked into a store that looked to be an Abercrombie and Fitch. Cool.

So, clothes shopping, it seemed. First, the man decided upon a light brown button up that had a comfortable texture to it. Then, an extra long jacket that went down to his knees and had plenty of pockets, in a light-ish tan. Skinny jeans, in a dark brown, almost black. Brown boots. Socks, of course. Once he changed into this, he felt much better, but not quite perfect.

He needed to look cooler.

So, in a good bit of storehopping, he managed to get a nice-looking satchel, along with cool fingerless gloves, though he realized he could only use one of them. To compensate, he managed to find a hook, somehow. He tied a bandana around his forearm, too, because it looked cool.

Once he managed to fit the hook where his hand would be, Pete came across him, and looked entirely different.

Pink hair instead of black, a white sleeveless shirt, black skinny jeans ripped up at the knees, boots that almost went up to the knees, a bandana around their upper arm, bandages made for punching around their fists, cool looking goggles resting on their forehead, and a cool-looking bandana fully covering up everywhere from the top of their chest to their nose. And a red backpack.

"Aww. That's cute, only buttoning half of the buttons."

"Sorry I'd die of a heatstroke, or something."

"The hook?"

"Better than some bandaged up mess."

"I spent _time_ rebandaging that when they got too bloody, hey!"

"Besides, it, it looks cool, so..."

Pete looked over him, obviously keeping back laughter, or something.

"What?"

"Nothing- it's just- you're _so_ pale. Barely tanned at all, barely any dirt on you skin. You look so fragile, it's kinda adorable, if you get me, like a brand new teddy bear surrounded by worn-down stuffed animals." The leader changed their posture slightly. "So, we need weapons. Follow me for the best place for this sort of thing."

Patrick came out with a hunting rifle slung over his back, a handgun strapped low on his leg, ammo held in a sort of bag strapped on his hooked arm, and a few dagger-like knifes stashed away in various places of his outfit.

Cool. He felt like he could kill someone, that was sweet. However, looking around at the people around him, it seemed like dying hair was in. Apparently. So, he went shop hopping a bit more, and came out with light blonde hair, quite feathery, and cut (courtesy to someone who called himself Brendon) similarly to a mohawk, but much wider and less straight-up, the bangs pushed to one side.

Once the group was pretty much assembled and ready, Pete yelled, "Alright! Let's head out!"


	3. We're Traveled like Gypsies

The terrain was pretty much a rockier desert once they got out of the city. Dry, and was stupid to have not taken any water, or something. Damn it. So, he stayed near the person who cut his hair- that Brendon guy. He seemed pretty nice, though very talkative and hard to leech water off of.

"Know where we're going?" Patrick asked at one point, maybe after an hour of walking.

"Apparently, San Francisco. Heard it's still pretty intact, and that there's another group of Young Bloods there, so we're in luck. However, there's also going to be threats in the way of other people, so it's a huge double-sided sword."

"Is it going to be as deserty as this?"

"No."

"Thank _god_ _!"_

It took three days of almost constant walking when it started to get _really_ hard for Patrick. It was just... so... much... walking...

It seemed like Pete noticed this, at least, because the leader fell back at one point, gesturing for Brendon to lead.

"You doing alright? You seem really, really tired, and I don't want you to pass out, or something."

"I'm fine."

"I can call for a rest, if you need it. Like, the rest of us, we've learned how to cover up how tired we are, but..."

"No, trust me, I'm fine."

"Hey, Andy, Joe! Keep an eye on Patrick, 'kay? He says he's not doing so great!"

Patrick sighed, looking over in the direction Pete spoke. They were the two people around when he first woke up, if he remembered correctly. He really hadn't seen them since then, but it was cool.

Pete then half-jogged, half-walked back up to the front, as the two others replaced the leader.

"Hook?" One of them- he had cool, curly hair -asked.

"Yeah. Saw it, thought it was a good replacement for a hand, since the explosion."

"Mm. Cool."

Four days, a few breaks, and a burning sun later, they reached the city. So, of course, once they reached the first, slightly crumbled skyscraper, Pete hustled up to the very front of the crowd and hollered, "Welcome to San Francisco! Or, well, welcome back, for some of you!" They let the Youngbloods chatter for a second, before continuing.

"So, the group of us that live here are governed by a gal named Hayley, and a majority of the Killjoys live here. So, that being said, let's go find them!"

It took less than an hour, considering that it seemed like he went with a group that knew the area the best: Pete, Andy, Joe... Party Poison... Brendon... and someone named Tyler.

Well, Hayley seemed to have found them- and showed herself within that hour, almost as if she appeared. Probably some cheap trick, really, with a smoke bomb or something.

"Pete! Hey, man, or whatever the fuck you are. Brought along your division?"

"Hell yeah. Used up our little town's precious resources, decided that your spot was closest. Bow down."

Hayley was pretty interesting, just by how she looked. She somehow pulled off a yellow and white crop top and jean shorts, ending above mid-thigh in a ragged look. Her hair was cut short, a cool shade of blue. The woman's posture was that of an excited child, and she looked as if she possessed the energy to backflip off of a building _and_ stick the landing. She _definitely_ didn't look apocalyptic.

She bowed rather jokingly to Pete, before smiling. "So."

"So."

"How much more than an apartment complex do you want?"

"A mall and a grocery store. And a look at your recruits."

"All yours. I'd like a look at yours, as well, though. See what some all powerful leader can muster."

Patrick was rather surprised, honestly. That Hayley chick was tiny- shorter than himself! -and yet seemed almost menacing. No, she _was_ menacing.


	4. This is a Black Skimask Song

"Dude! Josh!"

"Ryan, Spencer!"

"Guys!"

Yells like that were practically everywhere around Patrick, the two groups of Youngbloods conglomerating into one big mishmash of people celebrating. And, all he could think was that he was _not_ social enough for this. Neither did he know the people.

So, he quickly found his way out from the center of the crowd, and found Pete, who looked more interested in counting heads then greeting people.

"Hey, Pete," Patrick started, as if to ask a question.

"Yeah?"

"Who even are some of these people?"

"Mostly old friends and such, though anyone would say that they don't know _everybody_. Like, that group," Pete pointed to a specific group of four people. "They're some of Party Poison's higher-ups in the Killjoys. Um, Fun Ghoul, Jet Star, and, uh, Kobra Kid- I know him pre-killjoys. But this is mostly people meeting up with old friends."

"Mm. So, Hayley?"

"Good friend, leader of this group, probably the person who'd take over the whole group if I'd die. Still believes that badass has a gender, even if she's never specified which gender, but her thinking is false, considering that both me and Party Poison are badass."

"Weird as fuck clothing choices."

"Nah, man, she looks awesome." Pete shifted their position, then said, "Hey, can you quickly count heads? There should be about 110 people, and I wanna go mingle, or some shit."

"Yeah."

It was pretty easy work, just... counting people. Once he finished, with relative quickness (and probably a lack of accuracy), he decided to go and try to meet some people.

So, he walked back up to the crowd, and started talking to people.

Or, he would have, if a sack wasn't forced over his head and he was knocked out.


End file.
